Chapter 82 – Azaria
AZARIA
It still didn’t feel real. The warmth of Quin’s body beside me, the steady sound of his breathing, the way his arms were still loosely wrapped around me—he hadn’t let me go all night.
I should have still been angry. Shouldn’t I?
For weeks, I’d convinced myself I was right to push him away. To bury everything, to pretend it didn’t matter, that he didn’t matter.
But standing over his body, watching blood drip from his nose and ears—seeing him so helpless—something inside me snapped. That was the moment I realized, with painful, terrifying clarity, that I’d been lying to myself. Because the thought of losing him had shattered me.
My fingers drifted across the bare skin of his shoulder—careful, barely a touch—as if I needed to reassure myself that he was really here. That this wasn’t some fever dream, some cruel trick my mind had conjured to torment me.
But it was real.
He was real.
I exhaled, swallowing against the sudden lump in my throat.
I didn’t deserve this.
I didn’t deserve him.
I’d spent years surviving. Fighting. Never expecting more than duty, battle, loss.
Quinton Thornvale was the last person I thought I’d ever let in.
The last person I’d trust. And yet, he fought for me—without hesitation, without question.
Even when I pushed him away. Even when I gave him every reason to walk and never look back.
I shut him out. He still stayed.
I tried to hate him. He never once hated me back.
I broke something between us, and still, he let me put the pieces back in my hands.
My throat tightened. My fingers curled into the sheets.
He looked so peaceful like this. So completely different from the man I knew—the man who was always sharp, always watchful, always carrying more than he said.
Now his face was slack with exhaustion, his body finally resting. When was the last time he’d actually slept like this?
I inhaled slowly.
This… this feeling… it terrified me. But I was done running from it. Because during those weeks when I pushed him away, when I refused to acknowledge what was already blooming between us—a steady truth had found me.
I leaned down, my lips barely grazing his hair. And then I whispered it. The truth I’d been trying to run from.
“I love you.”
The words settled between us, soft as a breath. I didn’t know if he heard them. Maybe it was better that way. For now.
I closed my eyes.
I woke to the unmistakable press of Quin’s arm tightening around my waist, pinning me closer.
A shiver ran down my spine as his other hand slid down, strong fingers wrapping firmly around my thigh and tugging my leg over his hip.
Before I could even catch my breath, I felt the heat of his mouth close over my breast—hungry and utterly focused.
My eyes fluttered open, only to squeeze shut again at the surge of sensation. He didn’t speak, didn’t bother with slow teasing—he just claimed me, mouth hot and insistent, tongue circling my nipple until I arched helplessly into him.
“Quin—“ I managed, my voice already shaking, the word dissolving into a moan as he sucked harder.
He only growled in response, teeth scraping gently before his lips soothed the ache. His grip on my thigh tightened, holding me open, holding me close, while his body pressed up against mine—solid and burning, every inch of him intent on worshipping every inch of me.
Sleep was well and truly gone, swept away in the rush of his mouth and hands. And I didn’t want it back.
His mouth never left my skin. If anything, Quin grew bolder—sucking and teasing, his tongue drawing slow circles around my nipple until I was half-wild beneath him.
“Good morning, Sweetheart,” he rasped, voice still thick with sleep and need. His stubble scratched deliciously against my breast as he spoke, then he went right back to kissing, licking, and gently biting until my breath hitched and my hips arched toward him.
“Q–Quin, you need to rest,” I managed, but my protest was hopeless, ragged, and he clearly knew it.
“I feel fine,” he said, low and smug, not pausing for a heartbeat. His arms slid lower, big hands gripping my ass, kneading and spreading me with confident ease. His hold was possessive, grounding, like he meant to remind me exactly where I belonged.
I gasped as he nipped lightly at my nipple, then soothed it with a slow, tender lick. The heat coiled low in my belly, my body tightening around nothing, desperate and needy.
I was going to come from the way he worshipped my breasts alone. Every flick of his tongue sent jolts straight to my core. His hands squeezed and pulled, keeping me pinned exactly where he wanted me, making sure I couldn’t escape even if I tried. But I didn’t want to escape. I wanted more.
My thighs trembled. I was so close?—
My fingers threaded into his hair, holding him to me, silently begging him not to stop. He groaned against my skin; the vibration buzzing straight through me, and the last of my restraint snapped.
“Quin—“ I gasped, arching into his mouth as pleasure built, threatening to swallow me whole.
He only smiled against my skin, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like “good girl,” and kept going, relentless and sweet and merciless until I broke apart in his arms—coming hard, undone by nothing more than his mouth and his hands and the fierce, unyielding devotion in every touch.
I was still trembling when he finally let up, kissing my breast one last time before lifting his head to meet my eyes, wicked and bright and wholly mine.
Quin grinned, the wicked edge of his smile softening as he pressed a kiss to the center of my chest. “Hmmm, I liked that,” he murmured, voice low and satisfied. “I may do it more often.”
I was still catching my breath, boneless in his arms, when Quin nosed his way up to my throat and murmured, “All that from my mouth? I’m starting to feel powerful.”
I snorted, still trembling. “You should. That was—gods, Quin.”
He smiled against my skin, pleased with himself. “You’re easy to worship, Sweetheart.”
I trailed my nails up his back, slow and feather-light. “If I’d known blood magic made you like this in bed, I might’ve dragged you into mine a lot sooner.”
He chuckled. “I thought I was the one who dragged you onto the table, Captain.”
“Technicality.” I smirked. “I still did most of the work.”
He kissed the center of my chest again, grinning. “You did. And you sounded so pretty doing it.”
I traced lazy patterns through Quin’s hair, letting the soft strands slip between my fingers. He looked so at ease here, for once.
“You know,” I said softly, “Kalias told me something about your attunement.”
Quin’s eyes opened, alert now. “What did he say?”
I propped myself up on one elbow, studying his face as I spoke.
“He said blood magic originally came from bat and scaled shifters—a kind of battle magic in the old days. Over time, it started showing up in the wolf clans too. They adapted it for pack bonds, for healing. Kalias said every human with blood magic has shifter heritage somewhere in their bloodline—even if it’s diluted by generations. ”
His brow furrowed, but I could see understanding dawning behind his eyes. “So you’re saying… I’m part shifter?”
“Yes. Kalias was certain. It’s faint, but it’s in you. That’s also why your magic attuned to me so fast—blood magic can make bonds on its own, even without meaning to. Humans can’t shape the bond the way shifters or fae can, so… it’s messy, sharp, overpowering. Like yours.”
He let out a shaky breath. For a moment, he stared at the ceiling. Then, quietly, “That must be why I sometimes get the urge to—“ He broke off, color rising in his cheeks. “It’s… odd. Sometimes I want to bite you. Not in a dangerous way, just—like I’m supposed to leave a mark.”
I laughed, softer than I meant to. “It’s instinct. Shifters show their love with teeth, sometimes.”
Quin rolled his eyes, but he was smiling now—shy, almost relieved. “You’d think someone would’ve warned me.”
I tugged him closer, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Would you have believed them?”
He snorted. “Not a chance.”
His fingers traced idle patterns on my skin.
“So…” Quin drawled, his voice all gravel and slow heat, “should I bite you?”
My breath caught.
He kissed down the line of my neck, finding the spot where the curve of my throat met shoulder—the place where blood pulsed thick and hot beneath the skin. Right over the artery. Right where instinct screamed yes, here.
“Right here?” he murmured, licking the spot.
“Yes,” I breathed, the word barely formed.
He didn’t bite yet. Not right away. First, he sucked gently—pulling blood to the surface, dragging his teeth along the skin in slow, deliberate passes. His tongue followed the path, wet and maddening, the promise of pain coiled inside pleasure.
My fingers dug into his shoulders. “Quinton?—“
He growled low, one hand sliding between my legs, finding me soaked and swollen. The other came up under my head, cradling it like he didn’t want me to look away. Like he needed to see my face when he did this.
We shifted, rolling to face each other fully. His cock slid between my thighs, already hard again, hot and heavy against my clit. He pressed in close, grinding enough to make me writhe.
And then he bit.
Not enough to break skin, but hard enough to send a bolt of lightning through me. Pain edged with white-hot pleasure. My whole body arched.
The heat in my core detonated.
I moaned loudly, hips jerking against his cock as my orgasm snapped through me like a whip crack. He was still grinding into me, breath hot on my neck, his own hips faltering.
“Fuck—Az—“ he gasped, cock thrusting between my thighs now, seeking friction in the slick mess between us. “You’re so fucking wet?—“
The bite had done something—something to my blood, to my skin, to everything. I was shaking, twitching, still coming as he kept thrusting, his hands tightening to hold me in place.
But I wasn’t the only one affected. The bite had done something to Quin too. I felt him come. Hot. Hard. Without warning.
“Fuck—“ he choked. “Fuck?—“
His body went taut, hips grinding helplessly as he rutted between my thighs, not even inside me. His cock pulsed, spilling against my skin, slick from both of us. His whole body shuddered, like he couldn’t stop.
The bite had done something, all right.
His breath came ragged, gasping against my neck as he trembled through the aftershocks. “I didn’t—“ he tried to speak. Failed. Growled low instead.
“Quin—“ I whispered, dazed and burning. “What was that?”
“I don’t—fuck—“ His arms were tight around me now, like he was afraid I’d disappear. “Your blood. Your scent. You’re so wet I can’t think. I could feel your pleasure like it was mine—I felt you coming, I?—“
He broke off, still shaking, still hard. And I loved it.
I smiled, wicked and dazed, pressing my forehead to his. “You came like a good boy just from grinding against me.”
He groaned, the sound tangled between pain and need. “That bite—Az—I need to do it again. I need to be inside you when I bite next time.”
“I’ll let you,” I whispered. “And when you do, you’re going to take that magic-high cock and fuck me like you mean it.”
We lay tangled—limbs loose, skin flushed, the scent of sex and salt and magic still thick between us. My thighs were slick, his chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven gasps, like the bite had stolen every last breath from him.
He hadn’t even gotten inside me. He’d come grinding against me, spilling between my thighs like he’d been summoned to do it. And I… I’d shattered on his teeth alone.
My body still hummed, every nerve lit up in the wake of that bite: heat simmering low in my belly, curling deeper, sweeter. The mark throbbed at the crook of my neck, the bruised ache making me twitch every time he moved.
Quin buried his face in my throat, lips brushing the edge of the bruise like an apology.
“Azaria…” he whispered.
I wrapped my arms around him tighter. His weight settled over me like an anchor, steadying instead of crushing, and with his skin against mine and his magic still humming between us, I had never felt more present in my own body.
He shifted slightly, only to pull me closer. I felt his hand slide along my side, up to cup the back of my head, like I might disappear if he didn’t hold me right.
And then he murmured: “You’re my heaven, Azaria.”
My throat tightened. I’d stopped believing in gods. Stopped believing in fate or soulmates or any of those soft, stupid stories. But this? The way he held me, like I was his whole world?
I believed that.
I turned my face toward him, brushing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then softer, still:
“And you are mine, Quin. Always.”
His body stilled.
I felt his breath catch, felt it quake through him. Then his arms wrapped tighter around me, his forehead pressing to mine like he couldn’t bear the space between us.
His mouth found mine, and he kissed me like I was breath, like I was belonging, like he could taste the words still clinging to my lips.
“Yours, Sweetheart,” he breathed. “I’ve always been yours.”